


Forever Yours

by HumanError



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depressed John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Last Moments, Letters, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder, Overdose, Poor John, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:04:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanError/pseuds/HumanError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know I've never been good at things like this. Emotions. Letting on to when I'm hurting. Except when I was with you. But that's not going to happen now. It's never going to happen again and I just don't know what to do now. What can I do? I have nothing anymore. Absolutely nothing because that fucking bastard took you away from me. He took you away from me and then he killed himself. Why? Because he was too scared of his own selfish consequences? Because he was afraid of what would happen to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Yours

Sherlock,

I don't know what to say. What the hell am I supposed to say? I've self destructed- the pain of it all is becoming so blindingly real. And it hurts. So. Bloody. Much.

You know I've never been good at things like this. Emotions. Letting on to when I'm hurting. Except when I was with you. But that's not going to happen now. It's never going to happen again and I just don't know what to do now. What can I do? I have nothing anymore. Absolutely nothing because that fucking bastard took you away from me. He took you away from me and then he killed himself. Why? Because he was too scared of his own selfish consequences? Because he was afraid of what would happen to him?

It's fucking sick.

I can't stop thinking about you Sherlock and it's absolutely killing me. And it's not like the last time. You're not going to come back and just the thought of that is absolutely agonising. I think it's worse than the last time, though. Last time they didn't let me near. I only touched your wrist before I had been pulled away from you. This time... Jesus Sherlock. I couldn't help you. You were bleeding out in my fucking arms and there was nothing I could do to save you.

You would think, wouldn't you, that it'd get easier. I've had to go through this once before. But then I had Mary. That was a fortunate turn out, wasn't it? She shot you and you almost died  _again._ Yet you didn't and I finally thought that we'd have our second chance. Just me and you Sherlock. And we did. Those were the happiest moments of my life because I was with  _you_ and that was all that mattered. Moriarty was gone. Mary was gone. There wasn't anyone to stop us.

And then that stupid case came along and all it took was one error,  _one fucking error_ for my happiness to be destroyed. I thought that you had managed to escape without an injury when I heard that gunshot and he fell to the floor.  _I thought_ the gun was the only weapon. But it only took me a second to see that knife in his hand, laced with blood, and then I heard you and you were choking.

You were fucking choking and I can't get that sound out of my head. I've tried so bloody hard to block those noises out, pretend like I can't hear them but they're always there and I can't get away from them. It was the most awful sound I had ever heard and I hate that it was one of the last things I heard from you. 

I remember how you looked at me, eyes so desperate for help. Your hands were at your throat and I could see the blood seeping between your fingers but no matter how much pressure you applied it wasn't going to stop. I knew that.

Before I knew what else was happening you were beginning to collapse. I managed to grab ahold of you but your knees had buckled and you were falling and it seemed like an infinity before you were on the ground with your head in my lap.

Fucking hell Sherlock. No one should have to go through that. See the most significant person in their life slip away in such a cruel manner.

You were gasping. Couldn't catch your breath. Blood just kept spilling between my fingers, bubbling out of your mouth and onto your lips. But you wouldn't stop looking at me. You knew you were dying. You didn't try and mask it.

I was terrified. I still am. I don't know what to do anymore without you. It's been exactly one month since you've been gone. I've been hospitalised once. It's ridiculous. I survived a war. Who knew that it would be being back in London that would kill me?

It was an overdose. Three days after you passed away. Lestrade was the one who found me. I can't remember much. All I know is that when I woke up I had completely forgot that you had gone and I was calling for you. But it was Lestrade who had to remind me that you were no longer here and I broke down. I never want to feel like that again.

I feel empty. It's impossible to bring myself to cry, to grieve. I'm pretending that everything is fine but it isn't, Sherlock. I'm dying. I  _need_ you but I can't  _have_ you and that is honestly one of the most brutal and painful feelings in the world. _  
_

Missing you is an understatement. Every day is getting more difficult. I loved you. I still do.

I'll see you soon, darling.

Forever yours,

John.


End file.
